South Park OneShots
by We're All To Blame
Summary: Various one-shots of various pairings! XD
1. Style

"BLECH!!"

Ew! Gross, Stan! Are you sick or something? Stan? Hey, Stan, wait!"

But I couldn't wait. I _had_ to get out of there. I couldn't believe I had puked all over my best friend because, you see, I _wasn't_ sick. I didn't see anything gross or disgusting either.

I had seen _him_. The only other time something like this had happened was in the third grade with my on-again girlfriend, Wendy Testaburger. It hadn't even ocurred when I discovered Bebe's boobs. An event like this meant I, Stanley Marsh, was in love- again.

With my _friend_.

Like I said: I _had_ to get out of there.

As soon as I arrived at my house, I bolted for my room, locked the door, and pulled the covers up over my body.

"Stan? Stan, open up it's your mother." Yeah, like I couldn't tell from her voice alone. "Stan? Someone's here to see you..." She prodded at me with the unidentified person, hopng _they_ would be the one to convince me out of my safe haven; I didn't budge.

I could hear her speaking quietly to the one next to her. "I suppose you're going to have to come back once I've forced him out of there...oh...okay...if you think that will work..."

I briefly wondered what they could have suggested to my mom, but it didn't keep my interest for long as the front door shut soon after. I closed my eyes, further distancing myself, to allow myself thought.

Befoer long though, I began to hear noises outside of my window, followed by a loud thump inside my room.

I glanced out.

His beautiful red hair, peeking out from under his green trapper hat (most likely from the climb up here), was blazing in the late afternoon sun. I loved his hair, however, I think the thing I loved most about him, even _more_ than his crimson "Jew fro," were his eyes. Bright and soul-searching, they were as heart-melting as his smile. He may have had what Cartman could only describe as a "huge fucking Jew nose," but the other features balanced it out and vice versa.

I rehid my head under the covers, trying to hide from the akward situation at hand.

He wasn't having _any_ of it. "Stan." When I stayed under, he walked over to me. "Stan, look at me." After a bit of struggling he finally freed my head from its sanctuary. "Stan," he sighed, "we need to talk."

I pouted and stayed silent. "Stan, your mother said that you _aren't_ ill, so I have to wonder what would have caused your sudden illness if not a viral infection." Can you say Carlos Mencia's "dee-dee-dee"? Honestly though, I hate it when his vocabulary bumps up a notch.

"Stan..." My attention goes back to him, "do you...like me?" and quickly diverted again.

"Well...sure, Kyle, you're my super-best-friend..."

"And you're mine, Stan...but that's _not_ what I meant. I _meant_ do you want to go _out_ with me; you _did_ throw up on my new coat."

"Oh! Well..." What can I say? I mean, he was my best friend; I couldn't profess my love for him. What would it possibly sound like; "Hey,Kyle! I know I have a girlfriend, and you're my closest companion, but I just want you to know that I love you I think you may be the one!"

"Stan, you can tell me if you do. I won't-" Against my own better judgement, words I had never meant to say suddenly began to pour from my lips.

"Kyle, you're my best friend but lately I can't get you out of my mind. I mean, I loved Wendy- a lot- but it's beginning to fade- for both of us. I don't think I can go on like this forever. Kyle, I love you."

I temporarily lost my sight as flaming red hair came at me and blocked my line of vision.

"Stan!"

"Kyle!" I choked.

"I love you, too!"

"Kyle!"

"Yes, Stan?" He sighed in content.

"I can't breathe!" I managed. He laughed, but he let me go as I joined in.

Even though it hadn't gone as I planned (running to each other through a meadow, while the typical Romeo and Juliet theme rolled over us), I wouldn't change a thing.

A/N: Oh my god. So cliche, and so fluffy that it rotted your teeth didn't it? Sorry; I grounded from the computer and my iPod so I didn't have any inspiration as late. However, I am trying to finish my other two stories, that Marauder's Series and Konoha's Savior No Longer. (I haven't forgotten you!) I will try to update every weekend but if I don't, you have my permission to hunt me down and beat me up. Sorry again! I also have a new story out called Apologize, so check it out if you get the chance (unless you're sick of me -_-")!


	2. Cutters

It glared at me from the long, pale finger it was perched upon. Smirking, its cold smile glittered in the dead sunlight, both of them mocking my broken state.

"C-congratulations." I stated, my voice cracking slightly. It went unnoticed as they only stared at each other lovingly. Then he leaned down and whispered in the other's ear, making him giggle (I thought it was unattractive, but _he_ thought it was adorable).

They floated away, holding hands and laughing about some inside thing, the picture of pure happiness. I was distraught; I had loved him. I walked home in a daze, not noticing if anyone had noticed _me_ on my isolated journey.

I passed my father, who called out my name in concern. I ignored him, however, and trudged unhappily to my room. Could I have seen this coming? It had come along my blind spot and caused a head-on collision. Now I felt as if I was suffering from a coma; able to observe and understand things going on around me, but also disconnected from everyone. Nevertheless, I would my best to support the one I loved, even if it wasn't me who would walk the aisle to him.

No, it was best not to think about the tragedy and heartbreak to come. Maybe, if I didn't even go to the ceremony…no, he would know that something was up and I _couldn't_ ruin his special day…

Two weeks later, I found myself sitting I what felt like an electric chair. Watching, waiting in anxiety for the inevitable end which would send me into cold darkness. Here it comes… "You may now kiss the groom…"

After that, the rest of the wedding was a colorful and happy blur. Finally, the reception came. Stan Marsh and Kenny McCormick thought that it would be a harmless prank on the happy newlyweds if _I_ did the toast instead of the two friends. It felt to me as though I were presenting a eulogy. I stood and took a breath.

"We all remember those times when Eric thought his purpose in life was the extermination of Jews, and the veneration of Adolf Hitler-especially you, Kyle." This was met with laughter as Kyle dropped his head knowingly, while Stan playfully jabbed him in the side. "He would Eric a racist fat-ass and various other names, but who would've guessed that only eleven years later, at nineteen years old, we would be celebrating the union of these two _enemies_?" Another round of chuckles sounded briefly. "In the hopes that they lives together, to Eric and Kyle!"

"To Eric and Kyle!"

"Kyle!" A happy Stan finished drunkenly.

As Kyle pretended to get mad at his super best friend, I moved off into a secluded corner where I was sure that I wouldn't be missed. From there I could see the husbands move to take the dance floor by surprise. They looked so graceful together that it was no surprise they had chosen each other. I could feel myself slip deeper into despondency as tears began to close my throat and choke me.

I heard my name called out in a soft and sympathetic voice. "Wendy?" I questioned, trying not to show that I was about to cry. "I'm sorry." That was all she said; all that was needed to say. I began to silently sob as she wrapped her arms around me. I allowed my head to rest on her shoulder. There was no need for words on what was wrong with me; all of the girls, all my friends knew how I felt about Eric Cartman.

"_I_ l-loved him, _I_ want-wanted h-him, _I_ was the one w-who was al-al-_always_ there for when, when he needed m-me. And what does h-he do? He m-marries Ky-_Kyle_! The one who he, he h-himself used to, to loathe."

Wendy just held me tight and allowed me to release my frustrations onto her once very valuable dress. After a few minutes of intense crying and soft shushing, I was filled with a kind of calm.

"I-I'm okay, Wendy." After her look: "Really I am. Eric only ever liked me as a friend and as a plaything that was gullible enough to follow him around in his antics." Wendy tried to pull me close again, thinking I was still upset; I refused her. "I want him to be happy. And if that means he should be married to Kyle, then I'm okay with that."

I moved away from Wendy, back other festivities with my happiest smiles for Eric and his new groom. After all, ignorant bliss was to be expected from Butters Stotch.


	3. Bunny

"Loo, loo, loo, loo, loo…" Butters Stotch was skipping down the sidewalk, an activity he did most often. This may have been frowned upon for most twelve-year-old boys, but Butters found this habit to be an excellent release of energy before he had to go home to help his parents with chores.

He caught sight of Kenny McCormick walking down the other side of the street.

"Oh! H-hey Ken-whoa! Ouch!" Butters had tripped on a small crack. He had scraped both of his palms. Kenny stood on the other side of the street, clearly torn between helping the fallen boy and _not_ putting himself into a potentially fatal situation-again. Sighing as he realized he would die _sometime_ that day, he looked both ways generously before crossing the street.

He breathed a grateful breath as he made it to Butters.

"Are you okay, Butters?" He asked through his signature parka. Although he was growing out of it he still wore it.

"I-I think so. My-my palms are scraped up pretty good, though. Oh, w-why do I have to be so clumsy, huh? Well, my parents are gonna be _awful_ sore…"

Kenny couldn't help but laugh at the helpless look on the other boy's face.

"W-well, you can…go ahead and-and laugh, but I'm gonna be in some big tr-trouble; I gotta learn to _behave_."

This caused Kenny to double over, clutching his sides as tears came to his eyes, he was laughing so hard. He had to control it though-he did not want to die like this again.

"Butters," he scoffed, "how could you possibly get in trouble for tripping?" He thought it was pretty funny that the innocent was always in trouble, but it was _hilarious_ that Butters thought something so trivial _should_ be punished.

Butters was surprised by the question. He just followed what his parents told him because he figured they were right; he never asked them why they didn't like the things they did.

"W-well, umm…they, uh, because you-you see…" He _had_ no answer.

Kenny snickered. "It's okay, Butters, never mind." He looked over the scratches on both of Butters' hands. They were fairly small and shallow, hardly cause for worry and alarm, but Butters still sat on the sidewalk sniffling at his embarrassing misfortune.

Suddenly Kenny had a bright idea. "Hey, Butters! I know a magic trick to chase the boo-boos away." He almost grinned at the nonsense phrase "chase the boo-boos away" and could barely contain his amusement off of his face when Butters' eyes lit up.

"R-really? Oh, Kenny, that would be great!" He looked so eager to try it that Kenny felt ashamed of himself for laughing at the smaller boy earlier.

"Okay, it has four steps." Kenny said slowly, thinking carefully. "The first part is to close your eyes and not say a word through the entire trick; trusting me completely got it?"

"Uh-uh huh! Yeah, Kenny, whatever you say!" Butters enthused, closing his eyes.

"Okay. Steps two and three go hand in hand with one another." Kenny then got down on his hands and knees and planted a kiss on Butters' right hand. Butters gasped.

"K-Kenny! What are you doing?"

"Shh!" Kenny scolded. "Do you remember part one?"

"W-well yeah! But you-"

"Do you want me to do the magic trick or not?"

"Of _course_ I do, Kenny, b-but-"

"Then keep your eyes closed and shut your mouth." Kenny snapped.

Butters immediately sealed his lips together. Kenny turned back to the task at hand. He kissed the other the other hand and stole a glance at Butters who teased the moment Kenny's lips touched him again. Kenny leaned up and kissed each eye to wipe the tears away.

He sat back on his heels to watch Butters' reaction. Butters had leant forward a little and leaned of being so scared.

"Now it's time for part four." Kenny whispered. Butters' eyes fluttered open.

"What is it?" He asked quietly.

"Come on." Kenny said getting up. He held out his hand for the other boy to take. Butters grasped the offered hand and stood up sighing happily.

"Part four is this…" Kenny told Butters who gave him rapt attention. The taller boy leaned down and gently brushed his lips against Butters' mouth. The innocent twelve-year-old gasped once again.

"Kenny what was-"

"Shh, let's take you home okay?"

They both smiled (one shyly, one triumphant yet sheepishly) as the walked toward the Stotch residence.


	4. Stendy

"Oh, uh… I kind of made plans with Kyle… do you think we can push it until tomorrow?" The voice on the other side of the phone asked.

"But, Stan, we were going to se this movie last week and had to postpone because you suddenly remembered making plans with Kenny and Cartman." I whined, more than a little hurt.

"Sorry, Wendy- tomorrow, I promise. Bye!" I didn't have a chance to return the farewell before I heard a click followed by the now famous buzz sound signaling the end of the call.

"Goodbye, Stan." I sighed into the empty phone line. I gently placed it in it's proper cradle, allowing myself the simple luxury of pretending to be oblivious to Stan's new nature. I calmly and silently walked into my kitchen to make myself a rare mug of black coffee.

Over the past weeks I had begun to notice a sharp decline in Stan's affections toward me. All of a sudden, football practices were longer and more often than before. Studying with Kyle and plans with various other friends became more important and necessary than those same situations with me. I was neither blind nor stupid; he was growing apart from me. He was interested in the physical, while I voted for the emotional and intellectual. I preferred sad yet beautiful with a strong message, and he liked to listen to harsher, more sex-oriented music. He wanted to go out and have fun at parties with his friends; I enjoyed spending quiet nights with the ones I held most dear.

As I sat draining the dark, bitter liquid in my hands, I thought about Stan's current excuse. I wondered what plans he had made with Kyle this time. Did he go over to play video games? Watch the old movies and shows they enjoyed? Perhaps he didn't go over to Kyle's at all; perhaps he was up to something a bit more scandalous?

I was neither blind nor stupid; I saw the looks he sent to mutual "friends"- Stan _was_ bisexual after all. I heard the "locker room talk." I knew Stan was no longer interested in what I had to offer him. I could give a family and a devoted and loving wife, but he was an exotic bird who wanted to fly and roam free. And he would do just that no matter how good of a life he had if _he_ wasn't satisfied with it. I was neither blind nor stupid.

I smiled down at my cup cooling coffee. I was reminded of one of my favorite songs: "Stand By Your Man." More specifically the lines Tammy Wynette sings, "you'll have bad times, and he'll have good times doing things that you don't understand" and "and if you love him, oh, be proud of him, 'cause, after all, he's just a man." They kept repeating themselves in my head.

She was right; it didn't matter what Stan put me through as long as I showed everyone a brave and naïve face. As long as I let him keep breaking the shattered pieces of my heart I would live in a peaceful, ignorant bliss, and he would have an unrelenting, solid figure to lean on.

So as I finished my drink and prepared myself for bed and school tomorrow, I happily sang the chorus to the tune that I now continued my theme song.

"_Stand by your man;_

_Give him to arms to cling to _

_And something warm to come to_

_When nights are cold and lonely._

"_Stand by your man _

_And show the world you love him._

_Keep giving all the love you can;_

_Stand by your man._"

**A/N: *Sigh…* Wendy… -_-" I based Wendy off of myself, and Stan off of my now ex-best-friend…Well…except the bisexual part… *places hand behind head with a sheepish grin and a sweat-drop* Please tell me what you think! **

***~_We're All to Blame_~***


	5. Cartan

Stan Marsh had been working on a school project with Token Black and was currently walking home, when he noticed a solid mass sitting on a swing-set in the park. Because said form was dressed in a red, plaid shirt, blue jeans and brown cowboy boots, the young raven knew exactly whom it was sitting there.

"Cartman? Are you… crying?" He asked, surprised. The brown-haired boy he'd addressed glanced up with startled, puffy eyes. He immediately returned to looking at the ground with what Stan assumed was meant to be an angry and normal expression.

"What do you want, Jew?" He growled sullenly.

Stan took the seat next to the fat racist and tried his best to look consoling, feeling a bit awkward at Cartman's being so out of character.

"I'm the hippie, remember?" He laughed, fixing a small smile on his face.

Cartman glanced up at him for a second before dropping his gaze again. "Whatever."

Stan became serious again. "Cartman, what's wrong?"

"Nothing that concerns you. Now, why don't you go home and leave me alone?" The neo-Nazi spat venomously.

The other felt a pit of dread drop into his lower stomach. "Did something happen to your mom? Is she okay?" He asked, genuinely worried- he'd always considered Mrs. Cartman as a kind of immature aunt.

"No! Don't you get it at all, Stan? If not, then just leave me the fuck alone!" Cartman roared, almost choking on his somber tears.

Stan felt guilty about not being able to figure out what was wrong with Cartman- an emotion he rarely felt for the one beside him. Suddenly, he remembered that morning's English class they shared.

*****FLASHBACK*****

"_Alight, class, by tomorrow I want you to complete a rough draft in the new narrative essay format I'm handing out." Miss Parker sang. The class groaned. "Oh, come now," she scolded sweetly, "it's simple- all you have to do is write it about your normal routine everyday or every weekend. See, easy-peasy, rice panini!" _

"_Yeah, for kids with a normal set of parents!" Clyde sneered at a certain fat bastard child. _

"_Shut up, Clyde!" Craig also flipped him off. _

"_Craig, go to the office please for using the middle finger in my classroom- we already had this discussion. Clyde, do you want to join him in there, or shall I call your parents? Eric, he's trying to rise from you, next time, ignore the insults, please." She asked with her sweetest smile._

_Cartman just mumbled something that sounded like, "yes, ma'am," amid the rest of the class's snickers hidden from their favorite teacher._

*****FLASBACK*****

Stan felt another pang of guilt for being one of the many classmates laughing. He felt even worse knowing that he had never lessened Cartman's load and embarrassment. In fact, the raven football star had always made fun of the fat boy for his lack of a father and abundance of father _figures_.

"Cartman, I…" He trailed off in a helpless state of not knowing what to do.

"Forget it, Stan. Just leave me alone." Cartman muttered, clearly in no mood to be comforted. Stan opened and closed his mouth, at a loss for words. Wordlessly, sadly, he got up from his place on the swing-set to do what his friend had asked of him.

"Kyle's Jew parents are always disciplining him and being strict but when he goes home, he has a warm, lovingly prepared room and meal waiting for him. Kenny's parents are always screaming and fighting with each but at least he's got _two_ to call his own. Your mother, even your _father_, have one of the greatest relationship anyone's ever seen." He heard Cartman's voice say behind him. He turned to find Cartman looking down wistfully.

He didn't have to wait long, however, before the brown-haired neo-Nazi raised his eyes to glare at Stan with complete malice. "Yet, all you guys ever do is complain about how bad your parents are, and how much you can't stand the way to treat you? How crazy, or eccentric, or strict they are about everything? You have moms and dads who love you and care enough to let you know and see who they are. Who let you love them back."

The one who was seated on the swings finally got up from them and gave a long, frustrated sigh. "I suppose I can't say anything about it, though, can I? I don't know the hardships you face everyday with two parents and no strange men coming home at night, because I've never experienced them, have I?" He choked on the last words and stormed away.

Stan Marsh, with a sense of hopelessness, could only watch and think upon his past words and action and those of his other friends as Eric Cartman, the fat-ass neo-Nazi of the 11th grade, loped away from him.


	6. Cartenny

I was eagerly pouring over and studying my extensive collection of Playboy magazines when suddenly my hand-me-down cell phone began to ring. Glancing at the number the piece-of-shit was showing on its screen told me that it was my on-again-off-again best friend Eric Cartman.

Because Cartman, the-kid-who-was-so-evil-military-boot-camp-couldn't-help-and-only-made-him-worse, never bothered to call me before in the three years I've had this phone I was a little surprised. Confused, I greeted, "Hello?"

"I need you to come over." He stated gruffly, irritation in his voice. "Right now."

"Cartman," I protested, "'right now' I'm in the middle of something important, so I'm a little busy-"

"Now." He said firmly, hanging up.

Angrily, I shoved the already fragile device into my pocket and started my journey to his house, mumbling and grumbling the entire way.

Once I arrived I knocked on the door and waited for it to open. "Hello, Mrs. Cartman," I greeted pleasantly, "I'm here to see Cartman."

"Come in, come in!" She exclaimed, bustling me into the warm living room. "Eric's in his room. I just made chocolate-chip-and-blueberry pancakes- would you like some?"

I almost laugh out loud at the thought of having pancakes at 5 o' clock in the afternoon. Fortunately, I remembered my manners, politely declined (even though Mrs. Cartman's food is AWESOME), and made my way up the stairs to Cartman's room.

This time, when I arrived at the door, I didn't stop to knock, allowing myself the permission for entry.

"Ay!" He shouted, "what do you think you're doing barging into my room you poor piece of shit?"

Immediately, I knew something was wrong because his insult and his shouting were somewhat half-hearted. "What's up, dude?"

"Well, um, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually." My friend's eyes shifted around and I didn't miss a small, pinkish blush creeping around his notoriously chubby cheeks.

After a moment of silence I prompted, "well?" I surprised myself with how much I was anxious to know what he was talking about.

"Um, it's about… some… one…." He said the words as if they were made of thin ice- taking his careful time because one false move could plunge him into a dark and sudden death in an abyss of hopeless. I know- fairly poetic thoughts for one Kenny McCormick. Booyah! (Just kidding!)

"Okay…" was all I said, trying to make him tell me more. Now that I knew it was about someone I was teeming with unabashed curiosity. Did he hate this person? Did like them? I hoped against hope that he would say that it was me if he liked them- I've certainly been "as horny as a rabbit" around him, as Wendy and Bebe _loved_ to tell me. "Do you like this person…?"

"Yeah…" he ventured. His face turned a vibrant and violent shade of crimson; I briefly wondered if his blood was tired of staying in that one place in his body.

"And…?" I asked impatiently, beginning to grow sick and tired of this childish game. OMG- I think I'm starting to become Kyle!

"And… it's-a-guy." He shoved his head into a pillow.

"Are you going to tell me who it is?" I asked angrily- I'm getting pretty pissed right now about all of this- I _could_ be gazing at the _lovely_ Miss September right now. At the same time, I _did_ want to know what Cartman was hiding. His head nodded from its fluffy prison.

Several quiet moments passed before I really got fed up with not knowing if it was me that he liked. I decided to use some reverse psychology on him. "You asked me to come so if you're just going to lay there like a vegetable, then I'm out of here. I guess I'll see you lat-"

"It's Craig!" Well, that worked like a charm. _He_ was the one who'd suddenly surrendered his darkest secret, yet I felt as though _I_ had the fatal wound in my confidence.

"W-what?" I tried to make sense of what he had uttered.

I don't know exactly when it happened, but all I know is that I started to enjoy the feeling of dominance over him- in a different way than with the Jew, though. Now three years later- after I told to get his 'bitch-ass on the floor,' that is- the feelings have matured." He said shyly. Wait- shyly? I guessed he did have it bad after all. This was not good.

"Oh. Well, he told Token, who told Kyle, and Kyle told me of course, that he might have the same feelings for you as well- you may want to look into that and take a chance." I stated, trying to hard not to ruin his good mood and choke.

"Great idea, Kenny!" He leaped off the bed and bounded for the door, stopping in the doorway. "You're the best friend a guy could ask for!" With he danced away, leaving me alone in his room.

As I began to dial the number of the friend I could talk to about anything, the sorrow I'd been trying to keep inside bubbled up and spilled over.

I heard the line pick up on the other side and then the greeting that followed soon after. "Kenny? What's up, dude?"

"Stan? Can you meet me at the park? It's about Cartman."


	7. Cartyle

He whistled merrily as he strolled from the small town store toward the destination of his desires. Some people stared in wonder and shocked disbelief at this radical change in his typical demeanor- usually, he was a dick.

Unfazed by these unspoken judgements, however, the seventeen-year-old boy with brown hair under his cap continued on his happy way.

Floating on his self-satisfied state of euphoria, he glided over to the doorway of the residence which was at the end of journey. He knocked and, as the wooden plank opened and revealed a head of graying red hair, put on his most charming and manipulative Cheshire grin. "Why hello, Mrs Broflovski! Is Kyle home?"

"Eric! I haven't seen you in a long time for such a small town- how are you? I'll check; he should be, he usually holes himself up into his room." The middle-aged woman's eyes had lit up as soon as they'd landed on and taken in the large form she had come to know as a third son. "Bubbe!"

After only a few moments of waiting, the golden, caramel eyes of the brunette teen beheld the sight of younger, more unruly red hair than of the woman's they'd previously studied. A split second later, they gazed at vivid, grassy emeralds- the eyes of the teen's childhood friend.

"Coming, Mom!" The other boy called out as he scambled down the stairs. He then gave the brown-haired boy his attention. "Cartman? What's up, dude?"

"Oh nothing, Kyle," Cartman purred in a soothing manner (Mrs. Broflovski had since left them to their own devices to continue whatever it had been that she had been doing prior to Eric Cartman's arrival). Kyle, the "Broflovski Jew," only narrowed his green orbs in suspicion as a response; when Cartman started to use _those_ kinds of tones, it virtually _always_ meant that the fat bastard had something planned. "Aren't you going to let me_ in_, Kyle? It's cold out here."

"It's almost June, Fatass; five move days." Nonetheless, the slightly older, yet vastly smaller male let the former neo-Nazi in. They made their way up to Kyle's room with a few inappropriate fondles and annoyed slaps from one to the other. "So what is it that you want, Cartman?" The Jew asked as the boy spoken to leaned down to place a passionate yet chaste kiss on the lips of his boyfriend for the past two years. Kyle only pushed closer to the other as a contented sigh passed his lips.

_God, they're beautiful-_ he's,_ beautiful_, Cartman thought. He smiled cryptically as he said, "I just thought I'd get you something and give it to you for your birthday." He handed Kyle a beautifully wrapped gift, the paper intertwining colors of jade and golden hues, and the bow on top reminded both of the shades in the Jew's eyes, albeit, not as vivid a comparison.

Kyle looked at Cartman, stunned and amazed by the beautiful artistry of the package. The brown-haired teen only winked and motioned for the redhead to open the gift and reveal what was inside. Kyle, excited about the contents hidden within, paid little heed to his destruction of the present's previous awe-striking beauty as he urgently ripped it apart.

He stared, dumbfounded, at the gift he'd received for his eighteenth birthday. Inside lay an adult lady's Halloween outfit for a typical black-and-white-striped suited criminal. Eric, however, had placed his own creative touch on it by sewing on a bright yellow David's star, clearly cut out from a felt sheet.

The larger teen began to explain . "I saw it during an after-Halloween sale back in November and immediately thought of you. I figured it would be your size, so I went ahead and purchased it to give it to you on a special occasion, pleased with himself that he was able to do something he thought was nice for Kyle's birthday.

Kyle himself, however, was less than amused. "I'll look like a Holocaust whore!"

Cartman pulled a confused and hurt expression. "But now you can invoke the spirit of your people when we make love as I do."

Kyle opened his mouth to retort, took another look at his boyfriend's expression, then sighed.

"Dammit."

Cartman's smile grew wide in contentment as the Jew beside him yawned and stretched. "I love you, Jew."

"Shut up, Fatass," came the sleepy reply.

Yes sir, May 26th was Eric Theodore Cartman's favorite day.


	8. Cric

"Ay! Craig! Get your bitch-ass in here."

I sighed as I started over to the couch where my boyfriend of three years was currently seated. In case, you were too stupid to notice, my name is Craig Tucker. I reside in a great, not-too-flashy flat that said boyfriend hates bitches about constantly. He insists that monochrome walls and boring layouts "aren't very fashionable." How feminine is that? And he acts as if I give a shit about being fashion forward- or ever did. And _I'm_ the goddamned bottom.

Shocking, I know. I shudder thinking about it too.

As I crossed the room's threshold, though, I put on my most loving, docile smile and tried my damnedest to be cordial. "What do you want, Cartman?" I snapped rather harshly. Well, so much for being nice…. Oh well- he could have done without the bitch attitude as well.

He barely glanced over my way and immediately turns back to his work. "Where's the outfit that I bought you?" He scowls and his tone is frozen. Most people might have been shocked, or frightened, or saddened that their _significant other_ turned into a total and complete bastard 98.4% of the time. I, however, was used to his hatefulness, and only rolled my eyes at his behavior. "It's hidden deep within the closet, never to be seen again- where it belongs, _dear_." I responded snidely.

He pouts and adopts an predictably childish demeanor. "It doesn't belong in the closet! It was purchased so you'd _wear_ it, Craig!" Son of bitch. If he thought I would _actually comply _with that idiotic request, he was severely mistaken.

"Hell no." Bitch.

"But, _Craaaig_," he whined persistently. "It's my _birthdaaay_." After a few more rounds with neither one of us getting anywhere, I had a sudden epiphany that, perhaps, this approach wasn't working and he simply wasn't going to give up. As feelings of frustration and anger reached the forefront of my emotions, I came up with a way to get back at him for being such a baby.

"Fine! I'll go put it on. But you have to wait for me in the bedroom when I tell you to go in there," I finished in the most seductive monotone drone I could muster.

Cartman's eyes widened to an almost comical nature. "R-really?" He squeaked, stumbling over the simple word and clearing his throat. "I mean," insert dramatic cough here, "I'll be waiting." He coos sensuously to me, winking.

Okay. I'll play his game. I saunter over to him and place my hand on the couch at either side of him; I close my eyes halfway, and dip my voice to a volume I've named: Sexy, Husky Craig Voice. Dorky, I know- get over it. I leaned further toward him, completely blocking his view of the television which no longer held his interest, and whispered, "Good." Moving close his ear, I gave it a minute lick and continued, "Don't make me wait too long."

He licked his lips and nodded quickly as I smirked at his eagerness. I rolled my hips slightly as I turned and walked away, silently laughing as he made a noise somewhere in between a quiet moan and a small growl.

I heard a slight rustling sound come from the adjacent bedroom as I attempted to squeeze the horrid "clothing" on.

"Craig! _Craig!_ Let me out of these handcuffs, you asshole!" I grinned to myself sadistically as I finally got my body to fit into the outfit's corset-like grip. Perhaps I should explain to the readers whose intelligence level matches the douchebag's in the other room. When my boyfriend entered our room (long before I told him to), I gently and tenderly bashed him on the head with our blow-dryer, and used the next pain-staking seven-and-a-half minutes maneuvering his fat ass onto the bed. Then, I'd proceeded to pull out the toys and chain him to the bed's four posts with loving care. I'm such a great lover; I think I'm going to pat myself on the back later.

Sauntering into the room, I noticed his eyes turn from bright fury to dark lust as his pupils dilated. He gave me a dazed yet amused and triumphant smile as his brown orbs roamed over y only slightly covered flesh. Eric Cartman enjoyed the kind of shit too much. Perhaps Kyle was right- maybe I should put my foot down and stop giving into his whining. But I digress.

My current fashion statement I was sporting this afternoon consisted of an offensively tight and short black dress with matching pantyhose, a small white hat and matching shoes and apron. In other words, I was dressed like A Guy Who's Desperately Trying to Look Sexy While Cross-Dressing As a French Maid (Whore).

Did I let Eric know that he was winning by showing him that I was completely embarrassed and out of my comfort zone? Or did I choose the other option in this lose-lose situation and pretending like I actually enjoyed his "gift". Deciding I was taking too long on these thoughts I moved closer to the bed, blindfolding Eric to torture the hell out of my little piggy.

Forty-five fun-filled minutes later, I was laying on my back next to the warm Fatass next to me. Suddenly, I remembered why I'd decided to move in with him in the first place: the sex was _amazing_ in any from. Angry, passionate, kinky, role-play… not… so…_hateful_ sex…. Anyway, I sighed heavily and turned back to him. "Are you happy now? I wore the damn thing."

He chuckled quietly as he moved his arm to wrap around me. "Of course I am, Craig; I'm ecstatic every time your bitch ass listens to me." I punched him half-heartedly as I cuddled closer to his disgustingly huge form.

"Shut up, Fatass."

"Love you, bitch." He said as he laughed.

"Love you too." As I fell asleep, happy and sated.


	9. Dip

Damien was in trouble. Maybe not enough trouble where he'd have to hide out in Hell for a few months like when he goosed Kyle Broflovski. Maybe not even enough to where he was running from the Divine Law... bitches. No, Damien was in trouble with a certain blonde lover who was currently turning red and gritting his teeth in his anger.

"What is that?" He growled, not bothering to open more than his lips. Damien couldn't help but notice how hot Pip looked when he was pissed off. In fact, he took so much notice, that he almost forgot to answer the question.

"Your present; happy Christmas, Pip!" Damien soothed- it did nothing to please Pip's demonic temper. He knew Pip would probably have enjoyed something like getting the day off from his womanly chores, or spending some time together. But Damien figured that everyone would benefit from this gift of pure joy.

"It can't stay in my house, Damien." Pip insisted, however, Damien noticed that the blonde's words became less firm when his present yawned. Victory was imminent.

Damien picked it up, and showed it off to his boyfriend. "But, Pippers," he charmed, using Pip's favorite- or at least most effective- nickname. "I think he's already taken a fancy to you." Pip blushed and glanced at the small, black object in the raven's hands. Its whole body was wriggling excitedly, trying to break free and greet the one in front of it.

"It's a hellhound, Damien!" Pip screeched, continuing his stance which Damien found to be entirely unreasonable.

"Only a puppy," Damien couldn't understand why Pip wouldn't want a dog as adorable as this one. Pip closed his eyes then and gave a sigh that made him sound much older than his thirteen years of life. When he reopened them, he sent Damien a strange look and proceeded to present his "more logical" side as though he would a child.

"Yes, Damien; he's only a puppy. But soon he will grow into a vicious, deadly, hell-raising hound. What if he attacks my friends?"

"Personally, I've never been a fan of Butters." Damien winked. Pip laughed suddenly, full of surprise and mirth.

"That's not funny, Damien!" He choked. As Pip attempted to fight down his newly developed fit of giggles, anti-Christ boyfriend sauntered over dog-in-hand. He lifted the pup to his height and did his best to copy the beast's adorable pout.

"Come on, Pip; please?" Damien couldn't let the animal down. Besides, if he brought Cassius back to Hell and his father, he'd never hear the end of his dad's heartbreak. "Please? Please, please? Please, please, please? Please-"

"Okay, Damien, alright!" Pip shouted, exasperated yet slightly amused. "We'll keep him; has he got a name already?"

"Yes," Damien beamed, "his name is Cassius Von Cute-tinov." At Pip's expression, he quickly continued, "Dad named him yesterday. He couldn't resist, he said."

"They're all starting at us, Damien." Pip mumbled looking from the South Park citizens to the sidewalk beneath his feet.

"It probably because of Cassius's blood-red eyes, which look as though he's ready to kill anyone at any given moment." Damien stated simply. When Pip sent him a stricken and horrified look, the other felt as though he might have said something too disconcerting. "Or maybe they're only jealous that you get to have a cute dog _and_ a boyfriend- all to yourself!" He winked.

Pip blushed and whispered, "shut up." Damien could forgive the Englishman's rudeness, however, as the blonde interlocked his fingers in his own, and they continued down the sidewalk in a contented silence.


	10. K2

I couldn't tell you why I was here except that he and I had another outlandish fight about something neither of us would remember tomorrow. I was walking around town to dissipate my annoyance when I spotted Token's house and the music blaring from it. I needed a drink. Yes, Kyle asked me not to go to this party for fear I'd get drunk, but what was the harm if it was just one drink? I knocked on his door and grinned when my dark-skinned friend answered with a beer in his hand. "Any left for me?" I joked, and entered the threshold when he moved aside.

"Not if you find it there won't be." He jabbed and, closing the door, sauntered off to continue what he'd been doing prior to my entrance. Soon, I was flying and feeling glorious- nothing and no one on Earth would be bringing me down tonight. It was that moment I happened to glance to the couch on the opposite wall. I wondered why he was here, but figured it was to find me so we could reconcile and not end the night on that terrible note.

Red hair bobbed from across the room and light eyes laughed from above the barest trace of freckles, and I made a beeline for them. "I'm sorry!" I burst as soon as I arrived, nearly toppling myself over Kyle as I skidded to halt. He turned to me, slightly off-green eyes widening as I grabbed his arm and asked for forgiveness. "I didn't mean any of it. I don't think any of those things about you; you're the smartest person in our class, the kindest person- the cutest." I enthused, trying to make him understand how much I actually cared about him despite our petty complaints about one another.

"What are you talking about Kenny? I'm not mad at you- I never was."

"Really?" I laughed and embraced my boyfriend- who felt a little chubbier than usual, but I didn't say anything in case I hurt his feelings. "I should make it up to you though." I winked and pinched his ass when no one seemed to be noticing. He smiled in spite of the initial gasp of shock, and we both headed off in search of a free bedroom.

I was really starting to get into it when I heard the door open followed by a scream of rage. Damn, I should've remembered to lock the door. As I turned around to apologize to Token and tell him we'd be finished soon, I noticed the face and stopped. It looked an _awful_ lot like Kyle's…. I faced front again to see my Kyle slowly morphing into someone with curves and a more feminine face.

"What the…!" I yelped and, suddenly sober, I scrambled away from the girl I'd been having sex with.

"Sorry to have interrupted you, I'll just leave you to whatever the hell you thought you were doing." With that, the only person I'd had a serious, long-lasting relationship with closed the door with a resounding slam. Rushing out to stop him, I never checked to make sure I was decent, and only vaguely processed Red yelling in the background, "Wait, you're not going to help me finish?"

"Kyle wait!" I screeched, not really caring how I sounded or who heard me. I had more pressing matters at the moment than what my reputation at school would turn into on Monday. He wheeled around and for the first time in years, I could see water forming underneath the malice in his eyes.

"I don't want to hear what I have to say, Kenny. You left me at my house to get drunk at a party after I asked you, I _asked _you not to drink Kenny! You know where that leads! I know we have trouble understanding where the other's coming from sometimes, but I never thought you would so blatantly disrespect my feelings on this matter. And what's worse? I find you screwing Red!" He took at a deep breath in a poor try at calming his nerves. "It's over between us Kenny- I just don't see how it can work after this." And he turned from me again, getting farther away as some of the partygoers held me at bay.

"Kyle, you don't understand! Kyle! _Kyle_!"

Honestly? She would never compare, could never compare, but the fact remains that I was the one who'd screwed everything up because of her. I didn't care about her and if she disappeared tomorrow with neon signs pointing out the path she took, I still wouldn't follow. So I watched as Red messed around with Dogpoo, dated Dogpoo, fought with Dogpoo, and eventually left Dogpoo and South Park for university. Kyle on the other hand, took weeks out before he decided he was past it enough that we could be friends again. It was months before his face found a smile that could finally be called genuine, and still years before he moved on to- surprise, surprise- Stan Marsh. Anyone could see this coming from a mile away if they thought it about long enough. Stan was with Wendy sure, but that only made it easier for Kyle to like him. They could hang out as friends while Kyle pretended Stan had something more on his mind. They could sleep in the same bed without Kyle getting weird looks from his best friend because, ultimately, he could just blame it on morning wood. And best of all, because Stan was so in love with Wendy, they would never date, Stan would never cheat, and Kyle wouldn't get his heart broken again.

Safe to be happy, safe to pretend. And I pretended to be happy for him too- he deserved better than me, deserved more than constant arguing and makeup sex that didn't last. When Stan finally married, I helped Kyle find a band to put on his right hand- significant enough that the two of us knew the meaning, but unless they were really searching, it'd be difficult for others to figure it out. When the Marshes had their first child, I picked out a fluffy black cat with charming jade eyes and watched as Kyle's face lit up, glad to have a child of his own to care for. And I was happy.

I was happy.


End file.
